


Right Here

by ngk_they_said



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agender Aziraphale (Good Omens), Art, Aziraphale and Crowley Have Their Picnic (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Demisexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Dry Humping, Explicit Consent, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Hand Jobs, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Love Confessions, Masturbation, Other, Podfic Available, actually talking about sex before you have sex, ethereal intimacy, the rating is between M and E
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25209898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ngk_they_said/pseuds/ngk_they_said
Summary: Although Aziraphale has sensed Crowley's love for millennia, after their trials he decides to be honest about his own feelings. So desperate to finally be close, Aziraphale doesn't anticipate that physical intimacy might be rather overwhelming for an ethereal being in a human body. He has wonderfully transcendent celestial experiences that take him away from the moment with Crowley. Together, he and Crowley discover a new level of intimacy as they try to work out this issue--and the shape of their new Arrangement.Featuring: 16k words of unrepentant softness, open conversations about sex, ethereal and human intimacy, a certain promised picnic, and a little bit of bickering between hereditary enemies.Contains SFW embedded art by Gayngels and the author. Written for the Good Omens Mini Bang 2020.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 122
Kudos: 409
Collections: Good Omens Mini Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter contains SFW embedded art by Gayngels! (tumblr @sun-glasses-at-night / twitter @gayngels) 
> 
> This fic is available as [a podfic by Im_Not_Occult](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447345). 
> 
> Here are some minor content notes for this story:
> 
> Some topics that humans might have complicated feelings about are briefly mentioned but are not a source of pain for the characters: disassociation, sex work, consentful voyerism, talking about gender identity and gender presentation changes with a romantic partner. In this story I see Aziraphale as agender but male-presenting; Crowley is genderfluid. Both use he/him pronouns throughout and there’s discussion of genitals/Efforts shifting to suit their whims (but not in connection to their gender identity)

It wasn't until they had toasted ( _to the world!)_ and finished their first glass of champagne that Aziraphale realized what Crowley's soft gaze was doing to him. It wasn't until Aziraphale started feeling the familiar sensation of alcohol warming his chest that he realized there was another warmth blooming there, a bit deeper. It wasn't until he was feeling that airy, alcohol buzz between his temples that he noticed a more profound lightness bubbling up in him. The sounds and sights of the dining room started to soften and recede, leaving only Crowley in focus.

The way Crowley looked at him--had been looking at him for the last thirty minutes--felt impossibly rich and decadent, better than the dessert course laid in front of them. Crowley still wore his sunglasses, but Aziraphale could still see the fondness in his face, the softness of his posture, the warmth of his attention. And now, as the gentle buzz of a drink or two started to settle into his corporation, Aziraphale realized that the love in Crowley's gaze was resonating in Aziraphale's body and far beyond it.

Aziraphale had sensed Crowley's love before; he had felt quick pulses and gentle trickles of it nearly every time they'd met, for as long as he could remember. Every time felt a little different to him. It seemed to shift and evolve over the centuries, weaving its way through curiosity, camaraderie, friendship, trust, and longing. It often carried a different tune depending on their moods or circumstance. But the one sensation that had always remained constant, for as long as Aziraphale had been able to sense Crowley's love, was the strange tug of Crowley on the other end of it, trying to reign it in. In Aziraphale's estimation, Crowley had somehow become quite proficient at taming the flow, just as Aziraphale himself had sometimes found it necessary to resist his angelic impulse to sense it.

But now, sitting in the Ritz after thwarting armageddon with his hereditary enemy, Aziraphale could feel that Crowley wasn't holding any of that love back. Aziraphale wasn't sure yet whether this was a conscious effort on Crowley's part, but he radiated with the full intensity of it.

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment and let himself focus on the sensation. Sensing love--human or demonic--always felt rather like standing in a stream, or a river, or sometimes even an ocean. The love flowed past him like water, dynamic, shifting, sometimes rising and crashing in waves. His angelic instincts knew not to try to catch it, or hold it. In this moment, with his eyes closed, Aziraphale felt this love like a warm, salty sea. There were waves whose rhythmic energy carried him, but there was also a sense of steadiness and ease.

The love was familiar, but the new intensity of it threatened to overwhelm him. Aziraphale found he had to focus very hard on having a body. Normally he could manage his human corporation well, even as he focused on his more angelic senses; humans might just take him for seeming touched or emotional in those moments. But now his focus slipped until he became completely untethered to his corporation.

He drifted back to that sea of Crowley's love, and let himself lean backwards to float upon it. Just that act of surrender, of letting his feet be lifted by the briny water, felt completely new. He couldn't grasp the sea, but it could hold him, support him, warm him... 

Aziraphale opened his eyes. How much time had passed? His champagne flute had been refilled. (By a stealthy, attentive waiter? By demonic miracle?) He watched Crowley raise his own glass to his lips, and Aziraphale mirrored his movement. The peaceful floating sensation faded, giving way to the sensations in his corporation: the resonant buzzing in his chest, the tightness in his belly, the warmth in his legs.

He had to tell him. 

Their relationship had been built upon 6,000 years of subtext and hints; they always read between the lines. Aziraphale thought--hoped--that they could both count "I love you, Crowley" among those unspoken truths. But he also felt, with a pang of guilt and self-loathing, how he might have confounded or even erased those centuries of quiet love with words he had spoken this past week. _"I don't even like you."_

It wasn't fair that Aziraphale had so much more than just those hints. He _knew_ Crowley loved him, and when he sensed that love it had a deeper, richer flavor than any other love on earth. It carried notes of trust, admiration, curiosity, yearning, safety, surrender... but also sometimes darker notes, of fear, of regret, of frustration. Sometimes Aziraphale could even pick up a hint of self-loathing, though that was easy to empathize with... if Crowley had occasionally hated himself for loving someone, or for loving an angel specifically, it couldn't compare to how much time Aziraphale had spent fretting about loving a demon. The amazing thing was Crowley's love didn't feel the same as it had 2,000 years ago, and Aziraphale found himself wondering how it would be another 10 years from now. Or in another 2,000 years? He wanted it to feel familiar, practiced, more sure of itself. He wanted it to feel like home.

He had to tell him he loved him. Loved him beyond the reflexive angelic way. Was _in love_ with him. 

"Angel? You okay?" That soft-edged tone to his voice, again. A tenderness that reminded Aziraphale of " _you don't have a side anymore_." Of " _you can stay at my place if you like._ "

"Hmm?"

"You were talking and then went quiet for a bit. Everything okay?"

"Oh," Aziraphale breathed. "I suppose I did, rather. But I'm wonderful."

He was. Wonder-full. He studied Crowley again, who still carried a gentle air of basking, but Aziraphale noticed that some of that tenderness was giving way to a slowness, a sleepiness. "How are you? You look tired, my dear."

"Mmmyeah, long day. Days. Reckon I'll nap later."

Sleep. Aziraphale had forgotten. They'd saved the world (perhaps, or at least helped a little). Crowley had faced Aziraphale's discorporation, driven the Bentley through a wall of fire, helped the antichrist child face down Satan, and didn't even get a night's sleep before he had to face Aziraphale's executioners. (They had stayed up all night before, preparing their roles.) Crowley must be exhausted.

"Of course," Aziraphale said. "Shall we ask for the check? Pity the Bentley's still at your flat, but I'll have the maître d' call you a taxi home."

"No-- I--"

"No?"

"I... uhm... m'not..." Crowley looked away from Aziraphale for the first time during the entire lunch. "M'not quite ready to leave. You."

Aziraphale felt a thrill at the directness of Crowley's words, but still felt the weight of everything he wasn't saying. He remembered last night, Crowley confessing how devastated he felt when he had thought he lost Aziraphale forever. "Not quite ready to leave," sounded a bit like, "I can't quite believe that you're safe, yet." It sounded a bit like, "I'm not sure what we do next." Aziraphale wasn't quite sure either, but he felt certain that the next steps were his responsibility.

"That's all right," Aziraphale said carefully. "I feel quite the same. Let's ring for a taxi. I'll go with you, drop you off at yours. We can make sure your flat is still safe, and you can call me after you've slept."

"Yeah, all right. Could nap for a few days." 

After that was agreed upon, Crowley seemed to slip deeper into his exhaustion, as though Aziraphale had somehow given him permission to. As they waited for the car to arrive, Aziraphale noticed how unusual it felt to stand next to him without Crowley's reflexive circling, guarding, and watching. Was he just too tired? Or were they finally safe? Could they ever know if they were safe? 

Aziraphale straightened his posture and scanned the sidewalk, let his ethereal attention stretch outwards. He didn't feel particularly afraid, or on edge, but he rather liked the idea of being the guardian among them, for a moment.

In the taxi, Aziraphale was struck again by the oddness of their circumstance. For as much time as he'd spent in Crowley's car, he couldn't recall a time they had sat together as someone else drove them around, at least not since the invention of the automobile. There was something oddly intimate about it. 

Crowley was sprawled out on the left side of the seat, digging his elbow into the armrest on the door, idly kicking the bottom of the front seat. His eyes were closed. "So bloody slow, cab drivers," he muttered. "Too damn cautious, the lot of them."

Aziraphale chuckled. "You know, that isn't really their reputation among humans..."

Crowley scoffed.

Aziraphale took a steadying breath. "I don't mind a longer ride." He looked at his own hands, clasped at his belly. He moved his left hand until it laid on the seat. Crowley opened his eyes at that. Aziraphale glanced over at him, and smiled softly as he inched his hand closer to Crowley's. He covered the demon's hand with his own, slowly, first with just his pinky finger.

"Is this okay?" Aziraphale asked.

"Ngk."

Aziraphale turned his attention to his breath. He didn't particularly need it, but like many humans did he found breathing to be a useful cue to center himself, to bridge the gap between his ethereal form and his human-ish body. As he breathed, he remembered how it felt holding Crowley's hand for the first time the night before, on the bus back from Tadfield. 

_Crowley's voice, his eyes, had slipped into something so tender while they talked at the bus stop. As they boarded the bus, Aziraphale still felt buoyed by that gentleness, that kindness, and he wanted some way to thank Crowley, to comfort him in turn. He tried for a moment to think of the right words. Even if he could've found some way to express the ineffable, he knew it would include plenty of Crowley's dreaded four-letter words. So as they took their seats on the bus, Aziraphale decided there weren't words for what he wanted to say. Instead, he took Crowley's hand._

_Crowley stared at him, which prompted a short moment of panic. Had he miscalculated?_

_But then he smiled, gently, and squeezed Aziraphale's hand in affirmation. Aziraphale squeezed back, trying to squeeze into Crowley's skin the words he felt burning in his chest but couldn't quite say yet: "our side."_

_As the bus rattled on, Crowley gazed out the window, taking in the still-existing world outside. Aziraphale felt a cold jolt of terror as he thought about what might be next for them, of the idea of losing this. He took a deep breath._

_"Okay, angel?"_

_"Mmm. Just trying not to think about what happens tomorrow."_

_"Want to talk about it?"_

_"Not quite yet."_

_"We'll figure something out. Always do."_

_Aziraphale focused on his breath again, and with it the glowing, warm light tucked inside his chest. He let it soothe him. Humans, Aziraphale knew, sometimes imagined light moving through them when they prayed or meditated, but in Aziraphale's case it truly was there, more real than his human lungs or heart. After that light had eased the jolt of terror in his gut, he focused with each breath on guiding that light gently down his arm, across his fingers, into Crowley's skin, to soothe him as well. He did this sometimes with humans; this sort of angelic meditation was a few stops short of a proper blessing, but it was useful when he wanted to comfort but wasn't supposed to interfere. He didn't think there was anything particularly Divine about it. Heaven never mentioned it in his trainings or performance reviews; Aziraphale had just figured out over the millennia that the humans found it grounding. He wondered if Crowley could feel it. He wondered if Crowley felt as he did on this bus, like their side was the only thing there was._

Back in the taxi, just as he had on the bus, Aziraphale let his breath guide that light to Crowley's skin, but this time he imagined different words behind it. _I love you. I've always loved you. Every century I've known you has revealed to me a new shape that love can take. I've never loved anyone else this way._

Crowley turned his palm up and laced his fingers in Aziraphale's, smiled gently, and closed his eyes again.

 _Did you hear that?_ Aziraphale wondered.

* * *

Aziraphale reached his bookshop steps just as the sun lowered in the sky, casting an evening glow upon the windows of the shop. He believed Crowley, of course, when he said that the shop had been restored, but coming upon it bathed in golden light made the shop's existence seem particularly miraculous, even to someone for whom miracles were a routine occurrence.

He fished through his pocket for his keys, and found Crowley's instead--the Bentley's key, and a newfangled keyfob to his flat. The thought made Aziraphale smile--they'd managed to swap their entire corporations, vascular systems and tartan and all, but they had forgotten to swap their keys back. He could picture where his own keys were right now: in Crowley's jacket pocket, which he hadn't even changed out of before collapsing in bed for a nap. Aziraphale lingered on that image for a moment, just as he had in Crowley's flat earlier. Aziraphale had taken Crowley home from lunch and led him (by the hand, still) to his own bedroom, miracling open the doors. Aziraphale had imagined it might take him some time to fall asleep, and he had imagined perhaps keeping him company until he did, telling him about the next few restaurants he wanted to try. But Crowley had fallen asleep nearly as soon as his head hit the pillow, and Aziraphale had found himself standing over his bed, gazing upon a demon who had, without even thinking twice about it, allowed himself to be this vulnerable in front of his so-called hereditary enemy. 

Aziraphale had wanted to curl up next to him in bed and wrap his arms around his chest, or perhaps sit in an armchair and guard him while he slept. He wanted to kiss his cheek and whisper, "sleep well, love" against his skin. After Crowley fell asleep, Aziraphale had moved halfway to his cheek and stopped, hovering. The smell of Crowley's skin--something all too human--gave him pause. The clarity of purpose he had felt since the Ritz started to fade. He knew he needed to find a way to initiate some next step in their relationship, but he wasn't sure what it should be. And he wanted Crowley to be awake, sober, and consenting for it. So he had left quietly, and walked back to the bookshop, savoring the sights and sounds of the world that had been born anew and didn't even know it.

Standing at the steps with Crowley's keys in his hands, he returned to that image of Crowley curled up in his bed, still wearing his jacket and his jeans. He pictured the bookshop keys in Crowley's pocket, visualizing them until they were in his own pocket. He figured Crowley would want to go for a drive when he woke up, so he sent Crowley's keys to his nightstand. (Of course, Crowley didn't need keys to drive the Bentley, but Aziraphale knew how important ritual was to the both of them.)

He opened the door to the bookshop and stepped inside. The new titles Adam had offered him immediately caught his eye. He was eager to get to work cataloging, verifying that his collection remained intact, perhaps re-arranging the new arrivals. He was grateful for the distraction while Crowley napped. Would it just be a few days, like he'd said? He wondered how effectively an eleven-year-old could restore a vintage wine collection... maybe when Crowley called, Aziraphale could invite him over to help investigate.

As he made his way through the shop, Aziraphale couldn't stop his mind from wandering, imagining how that wine tasting would be. They wouldn't have to drink to distract themselves from the impending apocalypse. They could just open a few bottles without thinking about a war. Perhaps they would scheme about museum trips and symphony concerts, rather than demonic child-rearing. Crowley wouldn't have to slip out the back door.

Maybe he could even stay.

The thought warmed Aziraphale's corporation instantly. He felt a tightness low in his belly just imagining it, imagining Crowley draped over his couch, dozing off. Imagining what it would be like to ask Crowley if he could kiss him. Imagining what it would be like to actually kiss him, how soft his lips must be. When Crowley had his little outburst and pushed Aziraphale against the wall at the Tadfield Manor, Crowley had been so close to his face that they shared the same breath. There was a kind of soft, sweet, comforting scent to that air that surprised Aziraphale at the time. Even as he was still reeling from Crowley's violent outburst, the air between them felt safe and tender in a surprisingly human way. There was no sour, burnt, demonic edge to it. Aziraphale had desperately wanted to kiss him then.

They weren't human, but there was something so comfortably human about Crowley's body. Crowley's form had been gorgeous and alluring for six thousand years, in any form or gender presentation or fashion. Aziraphale had always assumed that being beautiful, and even sexy, was part of Crowley's job description as the original tempter. But Crowley's body also had a tenderness to it, tucked beneath the surface. Aziraphale knew that, but he wasn't sure that anyone else did. He wondered if Crowley could even see that about himself. 

He wanted to know Crowley's softest parts more deeply. Unlike Crowley's physical beauty, he couldn't imagine any demonic purpose for it, which made the idea of knowing it, and loving it, all the more special. Could it be just theirs? 

Aziraphale's daydreaming turned to fretting, as most of his thoughts eventually did. Did Crowley even want the kind of touch that Aziraphale craved?

For all the complex layers and notes he sensed in Crowley's love, he couldn't be sure whether there was an element of physical desire to it. He couldn't sense lust on its own, but he could sense desire as it harmonized with love. But Crowley's love carried such complex notes of desire: wanting for things to be different, wanting to tempt, wanting to be close, wanting not to want so much. Aziraphale struggled to tease it apart; it all blended into a general sense of yearning that reminded him very much of his own. He had occasionally noticed Crowley seeming particularly sensual, or flirty, or seductive... but he only saw this the way humans did, though, via body language and pheromones and the like. He thought that Crowley might want him, but he wasn't sure. Now that they might finally have the freedom to be together, a small kernel of terror was growing in the space of that uncertainty. What if Crowley didn't want what he did?

Crowley could sense lust, and must know that Aziraphale wanted him like that. Aziraphale had spent centuries a bit on edge about that, in fact. 

Aziraphale first felt the stirrings of attraction in that pub in Rome almost two millennia ago, and he immediately noticed how keyed in Crowley was, seemingly pleased to be sensing it. Aziraphale had always been careful after that not to reveal too much to Crowley about his attraction, often even making a habit of deactivating his human sexual endocrine system completely, except when he wanted to indulge in a wank. Being able to maintain miraculous control over how his human corporation responded to Crowley made him feel like he could control their arrangement and their friendship. Even when he had let himself feel stirred by his friend, it was always part of their carefully calculated dance. The dungeon in the Bastille came to mind--that day was the closest they'd ever come to the kind of sensual touch Aziraphale craved, and even then it had felt like a performance they were playing for their own amusement.

 _Well_ , Aziraphale thought. _Maybe this is the first part of letting go._ He shut the blinds in the shop and laid on his couch, trying to melt into it like Crowley would. He subtly remapped his brain chemistry and hormone production to something more closely resembling a standard human cisgender male configuration. That was only one part of making an Effort, and he pondered the other part. He had spent about as much time on earth wearing genitals as not. While he'd tried both vulvas and penises, he chose the latter more often. Unlike Crowley, his interest in participating in human gender performance and identity was nil; blending in among humans had been his primary consideration in the early days. In recent centuries he occasionally switched, seeking variety in his own pleasure.

He wondered what Crowley would like. _If_ he would like. Would Crowley enjoy tasting him? Would he prefer that Aziraphale have a penis or a vulva? Aziraphale, for his part, usually didn't imagine or prefer Crowley having any particular Effort. 

He knew Crowley tended to sport a cock these days. (Aziraphale didn't understand contemporary fashion, but he did know what a particular demon in skinny jeans could do to him.) He imagined slowly tugging those tight trousers off his legs, kissing his way down Crowley's thighs. He pictured Crowley sitting just here on the couch. 

Aziraphale's breath hitched, and his belly tightened. Already, with his biological adjustments, he felt so... warm, so tight, so much. In his mind's eye, he slid his hands down Crowley's bare legs, as he shifted to kneel on the floor. He took his own cock in his hand and let the scene play out in his mind. His worries started to slip away in the haze of desire. (During his time on earth, he had been rather good at letting earthly pleasures distract him from his anxieties.) 

He came quickly, imagining his lips around Crowley and Crowley's fingers in his hair. He got up off the couch to wash the human way. He didn't even bother to fasten his trousers before laying back down, his eyes drifting shut as he savored the gentle buzz that lingered in his body.

* * *

Aziraphale was relieved when Crowley's nap only lasted four days. (Of course he wanted the demon to take care of himself, but part of him had been afraid of another century-long nap. Aziraphale had been desperately lonely then; he wasn't sure he could manage that again, when he was just starting to feel they could finally get closer.)

The bookshop phone rang in the late afternoon of the fourth day.

"A.Z. Fell Booksellers, Mr. Fell speaking..."

"Hi, angel." Aziraphale could hear the smile in Crowley's voice.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale said, and he didn't stop himself from grinning either. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a well-rested demon who finally quit his shitty job." 

"Full of possibilities, then?" Aziraphale asked. He tried to sound playful, but it came out nervous more than anything. Weren't they always wrapping their heaviest feelings in a protective layer of banter?

"Hmm, 'spose so. How about you, still unemployed? Or are you thwarting wiles on a freelance basis now?"

"I was thinking more like... retired. How does that sound?"

"Retired sounds good. Retired sounds like we should be spending the day sitting out in the sun sipping cocktails."

"I suppose if we did that, you would be very evil indeed, tempting an angel away from his divine work."

"Mmmm."

"... however, I would of course be thwarting your deeper plans then," Aziraphale continued. "That is, if I'm keeping you distracted with the cocktail menu, when you could be off tempting humans to do all sorts of things..." Falling into this old dance felt comfortable and familiar, even as he tried to warm himself up for what he really wanted to say.

"Right, right you are..."

"... but really I just want to spend time with you, Crowley. I missed you this week," Aziraphale said, trying not to choke on his words, and how foreign they felt in his mouth. He paused, and they held the silence for a moment. "What sort of sunny spot do you have in mind, my dear?"

Crowley was slow to respond, and when he did, his voice was softer than Aziraphale expected. "There's that hotel with a rooftop pub garden not far from you, whatsit... Shall I swing by and pick you up in an hour?" 

"Oh, yes, a pub garden would be splendid."

* * *

Somehow Aziraphale didn't expect a literal garden. Wasn't a pub garden just beers and outdoor tables and the like? But this one overflowed with plants--wall-like structures made of trellises and vines, hanging planters everywhere, and finicky tropical plants in large floor planters. It reminded Aziraphale of Crowley's flat, except that these plants weren't quite as uniform and well-behaved. They were wild, but well cared for. Crowley had rolled his eyes at the plants when they first arrived. ("Ugh. Spoiled, these are.")

And Crowley, sitting here among them, was absolutely radiant. 

His nap seemed to have restored him. There was still a bit of that softness Aziraphale had noticed in his demeanor at the Ritz, but this time it didn't feel like a tenderness borne out of exhaustion. It felt like a choice.

They chatted noncommittally about their retirement plans, at least for the short term. Aziraphale enumerated the pastry shops and art shows he'd been eyeing; Crowley listed off a few performances they might catch, and some ideas for demonic mischief that had been on the back burner since he got dragged into the whole antichrist business. 

Aziraphale pointed out that that sort of to-do list rather defeated the purpose of retirement.

"Nah, Aziraphale, that's not how it works. It's for fun now. It's because I want to. Do you think you could stop yourself from blessing babies for the rest of your life? Doubt it."

"I suppose you're right," Aziraphale said. "But I expect the other advantage of retirement is that you'll finally get to do some less demonic miracles now and then without having to file the reports under my name."

"Oh, shut up. I'm still a demon, just a liberated one now. Can be properly evil."

"Whatever you say, dear," Aziraphale said. "I'm just saying, I'm not going to be very surprised when the flowers in the park bloom a little too early next year, or when the queer youth shelter receives an unexpectedly large sum from an anonymous benefactor..."

"Right, well, even if that were to happen, unseasonal flowering is all about fueling public panic about climate change... and don't get me started on philanthropists being complicit in upholding capitalism, it's all tremendously evil..." 

The conversation stilled after Crowley's playful rambling. There was a minute's pause, heavy with reflective looks. Aziraphale wondered if they were both weighing the same question.

Finally, Crowley spoke. "What's to be of the Arrangement, then?"

Same question, then.

"Well, no more assignments, clearly," Aziraphale started carefully. "But I think you'll agree it was never about the assignments so much as it was about seeking mutual benefit. Making the work more satisfying. Less wasted time, fewer horse rides, things like that."

"Like I said in 537. Aren't you glad I got you to come round?" Crowley smirked in his cocky, teasing way.

"Oh hush," Aziraphale slapped Crowley's forearm playfully, and let the silence settle between them again. He took a breath, gathering his courage to finish his thought. Maybe this could be a warm-up for the even scarier, exhilarating things still left to say. "So," Aziraphale said. "I think... in that spirit, an Arrangement without assignments could just be… a mutual agreement to seek happiness and satisfaction with the only other person like you." 

"Oh," Crowley said. Aziraphale took his hand. 

* * *

Afternoon turned to dusk to night. Aziraphale watched the shifting light illuminate the plants, as well as Crowley's hair and skin. When darkness fell, a waiter came by to light the tea-light candle on their table. In the fresh darkness between them, Aziraphale occasionally caught the gentle, warm glow of Crowley's eyes, peeking from behind the tops of his sunglasses. He hadn't really looked into those eyes, uncovered, since the night they chose their faces wisely. How would this garden be if it were just the two of them, if humans weren't around? Would Crowley take them off?

Eventually the nightlife crowd descended and made the place unbearable. Crowley led them back to the Bentley. "Getting late. I'll drop you off?"

As they settled into the car, Aziraphale tried to figure out how to ask Crowley over. Tomorrow? Best after he'd slept? Best if they start off sober? He started to reach for his familiar steps in their dance, perhaps a hint or a suggestion for Crowley to pick up on that Aziraphale wanted to see him again--

\--no. No. The point of all of this was that Crowley deserved his directness and honesty.

"Crowley, my dear, would you like to come by the bookshop tomorrow? I still haven't inspected Adam's work to restore my wine collection."

"Sure, 'course. I'll bring a couple bottles, just in case it's all been turned to grape juice."

"Lovely," Aziraphale said. He looked at Crowley's hand resting on his thigh as he drove. The rest of him looked so cool and calm, but that hand slowly, nervously pinched the fabric of his jeans. Aziraphale moved his own hand to rest on Crowley's, because apparently that was a thing they were doing now, a little bit. Crowley's fingers immediately settled. 

Well, an invitation to his place for wine wasn't quite as direct as he could've been, but he guessed Crowley could read between the lines.

* * *

"Angel! Angel! Where are you? You here?"

"Yes, up here!" Aziraphale waved down to Crowley from the second floor of the bookshop. "I was just reshelving," he said as he descended the stairs.

Crowley cradled two bottles of wine in one arm and balanced a box of pastries on the other palm. His eyebrows were scrunched up above his glasses and his bottom lip had twisted in discomfort.

"Crowley. Is everything all right, dear boy?" Aziraphale approached him carefully. He took the pastry box and set it aside. "Did something happen?"

Crowley looked away, seemed to blink behind his sunglasses, and turned back to Aziraphale. "S'fine. I'm fine. I didn't see you. I called your name and you didn't answer the first time and for a second I thought... agh, it's stupid, really. It's strange to be back here."

Aziraphale remembered the night before their trial at Crowley's flat, watching Crowley slip into a state of rawness and exhaustion when they were finally alone. He had told Aziraphale what it had been like to find his bookshop on fire. Aziraphale hadn't really processed until that moment that Crowley had already lost and grieved him once that day, and there they were, facing possible extinction again. Standing in Crowley's foyer, bearing witness to that pain, had broken Aziraphale's heart--not for the first time in the last century or so, or the last week even. 

As Crowley stood, still cradling wine bottles in the bookshop, Aziraphale remembered what he had done, then, in Crowley's flat, before they had found their way out of the mess they were in: he had opened his arms. It hadn't been their first hug, but it was the first in quite some time. And it had been their first hug, in Aziraphale's estimation, that they allowed to carry the full weight of their friendship and devotion. It wasn't the first time their embrace had carried a slight twinge of longing, but it was the first one that made space for that longing honestly, and without judgment.

So again, in his own home this time, he opened his arms to Crowley.

"I'm here. We're here. It's okay," Aziraphale said.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, who still held the bottles in the crook of his elbow. They shared a few steadying breaths together.

"I'm so glad you came. Shall we see what Adam's done with the wine? Oh, wait, first, do tell me about these lovely pastries you've brought..."

Crowley smiled, and reached for the box. "I think you'll like this one: it's got orange zest and bergamot sugar on top. There's a few scones; figure you'll save them for breakfast tomorrow. I might try this chocolate croissant--they make it with cardamom."

"Oh! Positively delightful."

* * *

The wine they tried from Aziraphale's collection was, perplexingly, exactly how they remembered. They were well into their third bottle. From the start, they sat on the couch together, rather than with Aziraphale across the room in his own chair. By the end of the first bottle, Crowley had reached for Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale had smiled. By the end of the second bottle, Crowley had pushed his sunglasses up to rest in his hair. Now, with the third bottle dwindling, Aziraphale found it harder to be apart from Crowley, to not be pressing into him.

"I still can't quite wrap my head around how Adam did it," Aziraphale said. He stroked Crowley's hand idly as he talked. "You know what it's like doing that sort of miracle. You have to have an intuition about it. Even the more unconscious miracles take root in a specific expectation. How could a young boy possibly imagine a wine I've been saving from the 19th century? I miracled a horrible imitation of a cake once because I couldn't relive the sense of the original quite well enough."

"Dunno. I don't think it has to be about the details. Sometimes focusing on the emotional or energetic impression of something is enough, for certain things," Crowley said.

"You think he manifested the wine and books because of how we felt about them?"

"Not exactly that. I just reckon he senses things, knows things, without needing to understand them," Crowley said.

"Hmm, I hadn't considered that," Aziraphale said.

"'Course not," Crowley said. "Understanding is important to you. Up until the blessed ineffability thing--" Crowley rolled his eyes, as if on cue, but then looked back at Aziraphale, entirely serious again.

 _Oh,_ Aziraphale thought. _Oh._ Suddenly it didn't feel like they were talking about wine, or the antichrist. It almost felt like Crowley was saying, _I know you've loved me for ages. I know it took you time to understand it._

Aziraphale had to tell him. Maybe this was the start.

"You're probably right about that," Aziraphale said. "It is rather hard for me when I don't understand. What about you?"

"Well, you know me. 'All I ever did was ask questions _._ ' But they don't often come with answers. I guess I'm a bit like you--I want to understand. But I'm a bit like Adam--I think I've made my way without."

A pause.

"Crowley, my dear... I think there's something you should understand."

"Go on, then."

"I have to apologize to you."

Crowley scowled, threw his free arm about, and almost sloshed his wine on the couch. "Uuugh, Aziraphaaale."

"I'm serious."

"You sound serious," Crowley said. "I thought after last night at the pub that things were back to normal, that we were friends again. Perfectly normal friends who day-drink and scheme together. Thought we could just move on from all the unpleasantness, no forgiveness or apologies or dwelling. Go back to how things were before all the apocalypse business."

"Well, my dear, I don't want to go back to how things were, entirely..." Aziraphale stroked Crowley's hand gently, and looked up into his eyes as if to say, _and I don't think you want that either._ "Do you think we could sober up for a bit?"

Crowley protested again, but set his glass on the side table. They both winced as they forced the alcohol out of their bodies. 

"Thank you," Aziraphale smiled. 

Crowley adjusted himself in his seat and turned to focus on Aziraphale's face. "Okay, angel. I'm listening."

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "I want to apologize for lying to you last week."

"About the antichrist? S'okay. We sorted it in the end, didn't we?"

Crowley had always been so generous in his willingness to look past Aziraphale's moments of unkindness. It was more than just his un-demonic tendency not to hold a grudge; he had an optimistic and generous spirit whenever Aziraphale was unfair to him. How did Aziraphale deserve such a kind, patient friend? He was tempted to say so, but thought it best to save the word "kind" for later; maybe he could work on Crowley's tolerance for praise. (Aziraphale's imagining of that praise reconditioning process started somewhere mischievous and playful, but then an image came unbidden of Crowley laid out underneath him, pressed under his weight, as Aziraphale whispered those kinds of words in his ear.)

 _Focus._ He cleared his throat and adjusted his waistcoat, hoping Crowley would take the gesture for nervousness. (Which wasn't untrue, either; he was plenty nervous as well. How could he be so nervous, so soft, so in love, so aroused, all in this one moment, without exploding?)

"No, I don't mean that," Aziraphale said. "But I am very sorry for lying about the antichrist. I'm talking about the other lie. When I said I didn't like you."

"Oh. That," Crowley said. "Well I knew you were lying then, called you on it right then, didn't I?"

"Yes, but even if you knew it wasn't true, it was deeply unkind of me to say it. I'm sorry."

"S'okay, angel. We were both so scared. We said things we didn't mean. It's over now, right?"

Aziraphale paused. "That's true. But I think there was more to that lie than me being upset. Of course I was afraid. But do you know what I was really thinking in that moment?" 

"Go on," Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale looked at their joined hands. He wanted to look Crowley in the eye, but he was still afraid, even now. 

"Crowley. I was thinking how I love you, and I was terrified that they'd find out, and I was so terribly devastated that the world was going to end without me showing you."

Crowley smiled gently, and waved his free hand in a dismissive, playful gesture even as his eyes said _I am refuting whatever you just said because this is our dance_. "'Course you love me. You love everything. You're an angel. You've showed me that plenty."

Instead of taking his cue in the dance--arguing back--Aziraphale gave them a moment of stillness. In that moment he watched Crowley's face shift almost imperceptibly. He saw a glimmer of hurt, of hope, under the facade of his playful banter. It wasn't just a reflexive argument; he was testing Aziraphale, testing the sturdiness of his words.

"Crowley. My dearest," Aziraphale lifted their hands to his mouth, and gently kissed the top of Crowley's hand. "I've never loved anyone or anything like I love you."

They held a tender silence, for a minute. That silence didn't worry Aziraphale--Crowley hadn't responded verbally yet, but he could feel the floodgates of Crowley's love opening again in response to his words. Aziraphale felt content to sit, to stroke Crowley's hand, to let the familiar waves of this love gently wash over him. He tried to let himself savor the pleasure of it. That felt like it should be natural, effortless to do. It wasn't, yet, but Aziraphale hoped his old habits would fade before long.

Finally, Crowley spoke: "Ngk."

"I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you sooner. You deserved to hear it, but I was so afraid of what they'd do to us. Saying it out loud felt impossible. So dangerous."

"...but a part of me still knew, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale beamed. "My dear boy, you probably knew I loved you before I understood it myself."

"...and you know... you know that..."

"Oh, my love," Aziraphale said. "I've felt it for so long. I've watched it grow. I feel drunk on how it feels now, now that you're setting it free."

Aziraphale basked again in the warmth of that love. This full abundance was a new sensation, but already it felt so essential. This time, after a moment of being awash in it, Aziraphale noticed Crowley watching him. Crowley's expression of awe and pleasure only fed back into Aziraphale's own, shifting that love into a thrillingly dynamic thing. Of course it would flow like that--Crowley had always taken pleasure from Aziraphale's pleasure, and Aziraphale had always taken pleasure from Crowley's love. Their experience of this love created more of it, and more pleasure. Acknowledged, and shared, the love shifted and grew and fed back into itself.

"It feels good, angel?" 

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale sighed. “But, you can't sense it at all?" he asked after a moment.

"Not like an angel can," Crowley said. "But I think I feel it like the humans do. I feel it tight in my belly. My skin tingles. I feel warm inside. I want..." He trailed off.

"What do you want?" Aziraphale asked softly.

"Um. Uh. I want to be close?" 

Aziraphale's heart surged. Here he was, a 6,000 year old demon, the original tempter, softly asking Aziraphale for a cuddle.

"Can I sit closer?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded.

"Can I hold you?"

"Yes..." Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale motioned for Crowley to stand. Aziraphale positioned himself sitting lengthwise on the couch, with his back against the armrest. He bent one knee and spread the other leg towards the floor, and patted the couch between his thighs, motioning for Crowley to sit. Crowley did, gingerly, and pressed his back against Aziraphale's chest. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley's front, and pressed his nose into his neck. Once again, he marveled at how Crowley could smell so soft, so human.

"Is this okay?" Aziraphale asked.

"It's perfect."

Eventually Crowley regained his power of speech, and asked Aziraphale about the new books Adam had materialized for him. Aziraphale suggested they plan a museum visit, launching Crowley into a rant about historical accuracy and theft of indigenous cultural objects. Eventually their voices stilled. They sat together until they lost track of time. Aziraphale wound his fingers through Crowley's hair. Crowley occasionally stroked Aziraphale's hand at his belly, or leaned his head back to rest on Aziraphale's shoulder. They watched the sky outside the bookshop window turn dark.

Eventually Crowley sat up, stretched his limbs. "Wow, it got late. You hungry?"

Aziraphale chuckled. "Not in the slightest. I feel a bit odd. In a good way. Rather tingly."

Crowley smiled. "What would you like to do now, then?" 

Aziraphale bit his lip, looked away. "Well, there's something I'd like to try, but it's a bit of a human thing, and I'm not sure that you'd be interested."

"Dunno, I usually like human things, don't I?" Crowley smirked, and gestured his head towards his Bentley outside the window. "What is it you're thinking of?"

"May I kiss you?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley's eyes grew wide. "G-- Sata--- somebody... yes. Yes, Aziraphale. Please," he said hoarsely.

Aziraphale turned towards Crowley on the couch. He raised his hand to his face, stroking Crowley's cheek with his thumb. So soft. He leaned in slowly. He felt in his human body how Crowley's breath caught, and in his angelic form he felt those pulses of love rise in tempo. As his lips touched Crowley's, so gently, so softly, Aziraphale drifted away from his angelic form and existed entirely into his human body. He felt that love and desire tight in his gut, felt overwhelmed by the soft scent of Crowley's breath, felt a warm tingle in the back of his neck as their lips pressed together, felt stirrings in his chest as Crowley whimpered softly.

He spent a moment there, totally inhabiting his human corporation and overwhelmed by the pure earthly sensations that he'd never felt so intensely before. And then Crowley started to pull back, revealing his eyes, completely amber to the edges. 

That quick, out-of-focus glimpse of the vulnerability in his eyes thrust Aziraphale back into his celestial form, sent him into a dimension intertwined with this one but just out of reach of human perception, where he bathed in the warm light and the glory and the rightness of this love. It radiated from Crowley's occult form in waves. It mixed and twisted with his own love for Crowley, and wove into the Grace at his core, into the love he felt for all Earth's creations, into the kernel of Her love from which he'd been made. He felt such a rightness, a clarity of purpose, a pleasure in mere existence. The illusion of time melted away, and all Aziraphale could feel was this love, that always was and always would be.

"Aziraphale? You okay?"

The divine light faded slowly to reveal Crowley's eyes again, this time narrowed to their human-like shape and... concerned?

"Mmm?"

"Are you okay? You went blank there for a bit."

"Oh, did I?" Aziraphale was having trouble refocusing his eyes.

"Did it hurt you?" The worry in Crowley's voice was enough to snap him back to his human corporation, to turn his brain back online.

"Oh, Crowley, no, heavens no. It felt so good. A bit too good, perhaps. Are you okay?" 

Crowley smiled. "Never better, angel."

"I uh... I'm not sure what happened. I was a little overstimulated, I suppose," Aziraphale said.

"S'okay. We can take it slow," Crowley said.

Aziraphale pouted.

Crowley grinned. "You absolutely impatient bastard. You're immortal, for Satan's sake. You'll manage."

Aziraphale pulled Crowley in for a hug, and kissed his neck softly.

"I've wanted to kiss you since you laid down for your nap. I wanted to kiss you goodnight. You were so gorgeous laying there."

"Only since then? 'Cause I've wanted to kiss you for going on two thousand years, angel."

"Oh, gracious, no. I've wanted to for a long time. But that was the first time I thought I might actually do it." 

"Why didn't you?"

"Oh, my love," Aziraphale said. Speaking that endearment caused Crowley to shudder quietly with pleasure, which made Aziraphale desperate to make it happen again. "My dearest," he said. "I didn't want to kiss you without your permission. That's so important to me. You were sleeping and I wanted to wait to ask you properly."

Crowley groaned. "Aziraphale, you can't withhold life-changing information like, 'I think we should kiss.' You should have woken me up for that."

Aziraphale batted his arm. "Now who's being impatient? You were exhausted. Was waiting a few extra days really so bad?"

"Hrmph."

Aziraphale moved to straddle Crowley's lap. "Life changing, you say?" he whispered against his cheek.

"Mmmnngguh," Crowley said.

"Is this okay?" Aziraphale asked, lips still brushing against Crowley's cheek.

"Yessss."

"Can we try again?" 

Instead of replying, Crowley shifted his lips to press against Aziraphale's. This kiss was firmer, more intense than the last, but brief. Crowley pulled away, and Aziraphale rested his forehead against Crowley's, eyes still closed.

"Was that all right?" Crowley asked gently.

Aziraphale kissed him back, softening and dragging his bottom lip across Crowley's. One second. Two. Three. He pulled back, his breath coming fast. His hands were clenched in the cushions behind Crowley's head, as though trying to physically cling to this earthly dimension.

"You all right, angel?"

Aziraphale kept his eyes closed. "It's so intense, Crowley. It feels so good, but I feel like I can just barely control myself. I--" He fumbled for a way to explain.

Crowley grinned. "What if I said you didn't have to control yourself?"

Aziraphale smiled. "You tempter."

"The original."

"I don't mean like that, love. I do want to lose myself with you like that... I felt all these wonderful sensations in my corporation. I've never felt like this before, and just as I really began to savor that, it was as if I was ripped away."

Crowley pulled back. "Ripped away?"

"Oh! No! It's wonderful," Aziraphale said, Crowley rubbing soothing circles into his back as he listened. "My corporation felt so much, but suddenly it was gone. I didn't feel my body anymore, we weren’t on Earth anymore. It was just you and I, and that love was all there was."

"Properly angelic way to snog, that is," Crowley said.

"Don't be so sure. I'm not sure any other angel has ever snogged," Aziraphale said.

Crowley smiled fondly at that, like he was proud to know him.

Aziraphale snuggled into Crowley. "Maybe we can try this for a bit?"

"Mmm."

After a few minutes, Aziraphale started stroking his fingers along Crowley's neck and shoulders. "Is this okay?"

"Yessss."

Aziraphale pulled back his shirt and pressed a kiss to his collarbone. He felt Crowley's body melt into him in response, and then the next thing Aziraphale knew he was gone, and then back again.

"Oh. Not again," Aziraphale said.

"You okay?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"Did it feel uncomfortable?" Crowley asked.

"I'm not sure," Aziraphale said. "What is it like here? When I leave?"

"I wasn't sure what was happening the first time," Crowley said. "You sort of freeze? Less like spacing out, more like disassociating."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale said. "That's why you were worried before?"

Crowley intensified the circles he was rubbing into Aziraphale's back. "It's okay. I know now. Sounds like it's nice for you."

"Yes, but what an inconvenience!" Aziraphale fretted. "I do want to feel it that way, but not instead of being here in this body with you. Or at least I want to choose it, not be swept away. Your love, in its truest form, it's gorgeous, Crowley. It fills me up with so much light. But I want to choose to go there."

"Wait," Crowley said. "I'm radiating love on the ethereal plane?"

"Of course, don't you know?"

"Uggh," Crowley said. "This is embarrassing."

Aziraphale grinned. "Do you want to try again?"

"Desperately."

Their lips met again. After a moment Aziraphale ran the tip of his tongue across Crowley's bottom lip. Crowley moaned and immediately parted his lips. That moan, wrapped around the gentle touch of their tongues, sent a sharp pulse radiating down Aziraphale's body. He wasn't making an Effort currently, but he imagined the flush of physical arousal he would have felt between his legs at that sound. He felt warm. He wanted to make Crowley make that noise again.

And then, abruptly, he was off again, to a place beyond sound, beyond lips or bodies or arousal. He felt that warm, safe sensation of being awash in Crowley's love... but in its most direct, pure form; not mediated through the body or the human nervous system. What did warmth mean here, in a realm where there was no heat, where there was only ever warmth?

"Angel. Angel. Are you with me?"

His voice was so soft.

"Mmm," Aziraphale said. As he came to, he realized he had crumpled his body into Crowley's chest, crushing him under his weight. "Oh. Oh. I'm so sorry, my dear, I'm smashing you," he said, pulling away.

Crowley smiled, and ran his hand through Aziraphale's hair. "It's okay. I like it."

 _I like it._ Those three words catapulted Aziraphale from his soft, hazy, angelic basking back again to the sharp arousal he felt in his human corporation. Being tossed between them was so much, too much. He should stop but he couldn't, he...

"Again," Aziraphale said.

Crowley was the one to deepen the next kiss. Aziraphale moaned this time. He thought about _I like it_. He wanted to see how Crowley would react to a little firmness, so he reached for Crowley's hair. He used his grip to tilt Crowley's head slightly, with a firm but gentle hand. He felt Crowley shiver underneath him. 

The smell, the taste of this kiss consumed him, until he felt it fade slightly. He pulled back for a moment, adjusted, testing the sensation. He focused on his human senses--could he anticipate being torn away before it happened? The more he tried to focus on it, the more the insight slipped away. All these feelings were so new, so unfamiliar; he could barely process as it was. He shifted in Crowley's lap again, tightened his grip in his hair and...

This time Crowley was the one to pull away suddenly.

"Shit, Aziraphale, I'm so sorry," Crowley said, trying to scramble back a bit but stuck under the angel's weight.

"What, what's wrong, dear? I... oh." 

Crowley was now hard underneath him. His head was pressed back against the cushions and his eyes completely yellow again.

"Crowley, my dearest," Aziraphale said, sitting back in his lap but taking his hand. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I uh, I'm rather pleased, actually."

"You like it."

"Yes," Aziraphale said. "I've wanted you for so long, but I wasn't sure how you felt. I like the idea that maybe you want me too. Do you?"

"Gah, yes. Yes." 

Aziraphale grinned, and as if picking up on a sparkle of mischief in Aziraphale's eyes. Crowley quickly added, "Not quite yet though. Seems like we're already in over our heads."

All these years that Aziraphale had set the pace or pushed him away, and now Crowley was the one tapping the brakes. Aziraphale leaned in, gently avoiding Crowley's erection, and whispered in his ear. "Something to look forward to, then."

"Hah! Um. Yes," Crowley said. "Not often you get to look forward to a brand new experience, having been around as long as you and I have."

"Indeed. But we're already a few new experiences in, tonight," Azirpahale said.

"You really didn't know?" Crowley asked after a moment.

"I can't sense desire like you can, Crowley."

"That's true, but I assumed you'd figured it out the human way... or maybe you were more dense than I thought."

Aziraphale stared at him.

"Sorry. I know. It's more complicated than that." Crowley said, taking Aziraphale's hand.

Aziraphale glanced down at Crowley's trousers. "Aren't you uncomfortable with that, dearest? Would you like to..." 

"I should probably head out," Crowley said. "Before one of us explodes," he added casually.

Aziraphale climbed off Crowley's lap and stood, extending his friend a hand. A thought occurred to him, and he decided to be brave, again. "You can think about me, if you want to. I'd like that," Aziraphale said, as he pulled Crowley up off the couch.

"Ngk," Crowley said. "I was just going to..." He waved his hands vaguely, and imitated snapping upwards.

"Well, whatever suits you, then." Aziraphale smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course, angel."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains SFW embedded doodles/art by the author.

Aziraphale spent the night reading--or, rather, trying to read, but he was distracted by daydreams instead. He wondered if he could trigger that odd tearing-away sensation they'd encountered, but the sharp and sudden intensity of it never came when he was on his own. He tried intentionally provoking himself, remembering the intense thrill of Crowley's arousal, but even that thought kept him squarely in his armchair.

As he reflected on their evening together, Aziraphale decided to start making an Effort more permanently. The idea that he didn't have to hide from his attraction thrilled him. But with the way their attempts at human intimacy were going, he wondered if they would ever make it that far.

By dawn he was idly stroking his bottom lip, trying to remember how it felt between Crowley's. He conjured an image of himself pouncing on Crowley when he arrived, and pressing him into the door. All morning he listened for the unmistakable dramatic screeching of Crowley's parking job, so Crowley wouldn't have to call for him twice (or once, even). 

Around midday, Aziraphale heard it. He set aside the inventory he'd barely been able to focus on, and approached the door. Could he even do what he'd just imagined? It was easy to imagine that Crowley would enjoy that, but suddenly he felt like he'd spent a century's worth of courage in one day yesterday and didn't have much left to spare. Would it be better to look busy when Crowley arrived, to appear less eager?

The sound of the door opening interrupted his dithering.

"Angel, it's me..."

Crowley entered, and Aziraphale's face grew hot at the sight of his friend in the doorway. Crowley was wearing a new outfit: similar black jeans, but somehow even more fitted and revealing; a black short-sleeve shirt that was sheer around the neckline, shoulder, and sleeves; and a long silver chain necklace in place of the tie. Crowley stood a few inches taller in heeled ankle boots. Crowley's hair was chin length, a bit curlier, and pulled back in a half-bun. 

Aziraphale realized he had been staring, and then saw that Crowley looked... timid, somehow? Aziraphale almost didn't recognize the shyness for what it was, so foreign it was on Crowley's face.

"Crowley, come in. You look absolutely beautiful," Aziraphale said, smiling.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said, and he pulled Crowley in for a chaste kiss. He had to stand on his toes slightly to match Crowley's height in those shoes.

"Mmmm," Crowley sighed.

"Come, sit. Is everything going all right with the new look? You seem a little uncomfortable, my dear," Aziraphale said. 

"Oh. Erm." Crowley sat down. "I've been meaning to change for a while. Ever since you and I swapped back, actually. My body, how I looked in the world, didn't feel quite right anymore. Something about leaving my body and coming back to it made that clear. But then I was tired, I slept, got distracted, you know. It feels nice now though."

"Oh, I'm pleased to hear it," Aziraphale beamed. "Is something else upsetting you, then?"

"Nah, angel. It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Crowley," Aziraphale said firmly. "I told you I love you because I was trying to turn over a new leaf. I want to be more honest with you than I've been in the past. It's not easy after all this time, but I want to try, because you deserve it. And I hope you know you can tell me things. If you want to."

Crowley sighed. "It's not a big deal, angel. I just wasn't sure how you'd react, if I looked different all of a sudden. Especially if I look a bit more feminine than you're used to."

"Than I'm used to? Crowley, I've known you from the beginning, and every human gender presentation looks absolutely stunning on you," he smiled. "I'm happy when I know it feels right to you. I like knowing you did this for you, not for an assignment."

"But it's different, now that we're--um--" Crowley said.

"Lovers?"

Crowley hissed.

"Partners?"

"Okay, sure, partners. I guess.. it's more like... I didn't know if you wanted me to be your _boyfriend_. You know, 'my dear boy,' and all that. You've certainly spent time around gay humans and I doubt that label means much to you, but I worried that maybe..."

Aziraphale pulled Crowley into an embrace. "All I want is you, just as you are."

"Oh. Ah. Right then."

Aziraphale pulled back, and took Crowley's hand. "Shall I refer to you differently than before?"

Crowley shook his head, and Aziraphale brought his hand to his lips.

"I'll confess," Aziraphale said, "that I was considering the idea of pouncing on you when you walked in the door today."

"You should've," Crowley said, leaning in to breathe the words against his lips.

"I'm glad we talked first," Aziraphale whispered.

"I'd rather be kissing," Crowley breathed, and pressed in.

The next thing Aziraphale's human brain knew, he was lying on the sofa. Crowley crouched on the ground, gently stroking his hair.

"Oh, bother. I did it again?"

"Yep," Crowley said.

Aziraphale rolled on his side to face him. "This won't do at all. There's so much I want to do with you, my love. I wonder if we can find a way around it."

* * *

Their little experiments weren't going as well as Aziraphale had hoped. They had spent the better part of a week trying anything they could think of to work around it, but inevitably their kisses and gentle touches were cut short when Aziraphale short-circuited and temporarily left the Earthly plane. Aziraphale was frustrated, and mad at himself--he wanted quite a bit more than to kiss Crowley, but it seemed pointless to even broach the topic of sexual touch if several seconds of kissing untethered his true form from his corporation. 

Crowley seemed to find it rather amusing.

When Aziraphale recovered from the failure of their latest experiment, he was greeted by the sight of Crowley sitting next to him, grinning smugly, no longer a snake.

"Now really, dear."

"I told you that wouldn't work," Crowley said.

But what else _would_ work? 

They had tried snuggling through several layers of clothing, including gloves. ( _"Angel, you're being ridiculous. You wear four or five layers on a normal day, isn't that enough?"_ ). 

They tried sitting pressed back-to-back (his angelic soul didn't pop to another dimension so much as slowly drift away).

They tried a touch exposure therapy scheme. Aziraphale wrote up a color-coded chart with two days' worth of gradations leading from touching pinkies to snogging on the couch. Unfortunately, Crowley had never been the type for advanced planning.

Crowley did, however, take distinct pleasure in explaining the concept of edging to Aziraphale. He suggested applying the idea non-sexually, using gentle touches and kisses to work Aziraphale just to that edge of overwhelm, backing off each time. It worked at first--Aziraphale had a budding sense of awareness when he was about to be overtaken--but eventually Aziraphale became so keyed up that they stopped making progress. It certainly wasn't helping that Aziraphale had to process both the kissing itself, and his newfound knowledge that Crowley seemed to enjoy this particular dynamic.

They were drunk when Aziraphale came up with the idea of Crowley forcing some of his demonic energy outward, to hopefully neutralize Aziraphale's overwhelming divinity. ( _"Ugh, what's that smell?" "Sorry, I think I singed your hair? Probably should've sobered up first."_ )

On another occasion, they sat at their usual bench in St. James Park, and Crowley suggested they try kissing there, with humans around. Aziraphale departed quickly but recovered fairly quickly as well, fast enough to hear an older person _tsk_ with disapproval as they walked by. 

"Good lord, Crowley. You knew it wouldn't work and suggested it anyway! You just wanted to annoy them." 

Crowley had just smiled. "Oh, shut it. It's fine. You never know, maybe we tempted some queer youth to feel validated or something _nice_ like that."

Now, sitting on the couch after the snake incident, Aziraphale was despondent. They had spent two weeks scheming, arguing, laughing, and moaning about a problem that seemed to be unique to the only permanently Earth-bound angel in love with a demon. But after all that time, they weren’t any closer to a solution. He sprawled on the couch (in as much as someone as prim and well-mannered as Aziraphale could sprawl) and grumbled, while Crowley fixed them tea.

"I feel like I'm failing you," Aziraphale said, as Crowley handed him a mug. "We can finally be together. I've wanted this for so long. You waited for me. And now I'm the one messing it up." 

Crowley just smiled. "It's okay, angel. If we're being honest, it's not easy for me to adjust to getting to touch you, either. Can't just expect to change six thousand years of habits in a day, or a month. I've wanted this for a very long time, too. It's okay if it takes time to work it out."

Aziraphale stood, set down his tea, and pulled Crowley into a hug. "I love you, Crowley," he whispered into this neck.

"I ah. I em. Um. I l--" Crowley sputtered.

Aziraphale squeezed him tighter.

"Ugh. Agh. I want to say it, I'm gonna fucking say it."

"It's okay, my darling."

Aziraphale held him, savoring the closeness while he waited for the inevitable spiritual ejection. Three minutes passed, then five, but he remained in Crowley's embrace.

"You're still here," Crowley said.

"I am. I'm right here."

"I love you, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale pulled back, beaming. "I know."

They kissed, and the gentle warmth of Crowley's tongue tracing his lips melted into the radiant, infinite warmth of his own divine light; the echo of Crowley's words faded into the sum total of all the love in the Universe.

Crowley was still holding him when he came back.

* * *

A couple of days later, Crowley lay sprawled across Aziraphale's couch. He had steadily slipped from drunken chaos energy to the drowsier side of buzzed. They'd been drinking and chatting for hours, which certainly wasn't unusual or unfamiliar, but even the smallest and most familiar routines of theirs revealed to Aziraphale new details to savor, new depths to explore. Like Crowley on his couch, now: not unusual, but suddenly so different. Before, he lounged on Aziraphale's couch in a casual, chummy way, or sometimes as an intentionally obnoxious embodiment of Sloth. Now, he seemed as if he was settling into deeper comfort and safety--he lounged on Aziraphale's couch like he felt at home. 

And Crowley's consistent presence was starting to make the bookshop feel like a new sort of home to Aziraphale. Crowley's companionship had always been a fixture in his life, and in this space in particular, but now Aziraphale's heart soared knowing he could expect him to visit each day, without needing an excuse or a vague suggestion.

Aziraphale sat across from Crowley in his armchair, just gazing fondly, and finding his own sense of surrender, if not into the cushions then into the vibrating energy between them. He kept coming back to that sensation of Crowley's love--of _their_ love, now, the dynamic dance it had become. The sensation occasionally threatened to overwhelm him, but with some distance between them, Aziraphale could breathe through those moments and return to the sensation of leaning back and being buoyed by that love as it flowed past.

"This is nice," Crowley said.

"Mmmm."

Crowley closed his eyes.

"Are you getting tired, dear?"

Crowley's eyes snapped open at that. "Yeah. A bit. Should probably head out." He stood and grabbed his sunglasses. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait, why the rush?"

Crowley looked down at his hands. "You need some space. I'd better go, before I... before it's too much."

"What... ?" Aziraphale said, surprised. "What makes you say that?"

"I thought you were saying--"

"--you assumed. Do you want to leave, Crowley?"

"...no."

"Then don't."

"But your..." Crowley gestured vaguely at Aziraphale's head. "...thing."

"It's not your fault, or your responsibility," Aziraphale said. "If I need space, I'll let you know. Weren't we just saying how nice this was? It was good to have a little break from touching, but it feels so good to be near you."

Crowley sat back down.

"But if you're tired... I uh--er, well." Aziraphale fidgeted. "I was wondering, would you like to stay? Sleep in my bed? Uh, I could... I could hold you?"

"Ohhhh," Crowley said, the sigh trembling through his tired body. "Ohh. Yeah. Um. Yes. If you want. If it would be okay for you."

"Oh, I'm fairly certain I'll be a goner as soon as I have you that close to me," Aziraphale smiled. "But I want to."

Crowley smiled in return.

"If it's bad, I can get up. I could sit and watch you. This has been nice, tonight, sitting a little apart and getting to enjoy looking at you. Still tingly but no--" Aziraphale made a drunken gesture with his hand.

"Good job, angel. Gold star!"

"Oh, hush."

"If it happens--"

"-- _when_ it happens," Aziraphale corrected.

"-- _when_ it happens, Aziraphale, you can stay in bed with me, if you want."

"Oh, don't you think it might be uncomfortable for you?"

"S'okay. I'll be asleep. Just don't forget to keep your corporation warm while you're gone, all right?"

"If you're sure."

"I am."

Aziraphale offered Crowley his hand. "Come with me then."

Crowley woke briefly around 4am. They were spooning, with Aziraphale's arm around his belly. 

"Mmmm," Crowley said sleepily.

"Oh. Did I wake you?"

"Nah."

"I like being close to you while you sleep. I used to imagine it," Aziraphale said. "You're just so--" He hesitated, weighed the risk, decided that a sleepy Crowley was not a vicious Crowley. "--you're so soft like this."

"M'not soft. Demon," Crowley mumbled.

"Of course, dear."

"You okay?" Crowley asked.

"Yes. I've been going in and out--but honestly, both vantage points are so nice. It's so intense, yet peaceful there. I don't miss our bodies there--it's rather beyond all that--but then when I come back it surprises me each time to remember how nice you feel. And then I find a different kind of peace here."

"M'not nice."

Aziraphale ignored him. "I just wish it didn't get in the way, that's all. Our attempts to fix it aren't really working."

"Do you know why it's happening?" Crowley asked softly.

The question floored Aziraphale.

"I-- ah-- I'm not sure. That's a good question."

"Questions are my specialty..." Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale moved his arm to wrap around Crowley's chest. Crowley clutched his hand to his heart, and fell back asleep.

* * *

Aziraphale took Crowley's question seriously. He was certainly proficient at devising clever schemes to cope with his heavier and more existential problems--like, say, not fitting in with other angels, or being in love with a demon, or losing the antichrist, or feeling more loyalty to humanity than heaven. Intellectualizing, fretting, and finding ways of working around his problems was comfortable territory. Asking why, digging to the root of problems, were Crowley's instincts. That prospect still reflexively scared Aziraphale, even after the events of the last month had proven that there was merit to the idea.

So the next time they kissed, Aziraphale tried to surrender to the feeling of departure instead of pushing back against it. As he slipped into the adjacent dimension where only love existed, he tried to listen to why he felt called there.

What surprised him immediately was how much his body and soul seemed to _want_ it. When he stopped overthinking it, slipping away just felt right; the obvious thing to do. That made no sense, at first--how could he want to go, when he wanted to stay so badly? When being close to Crowley felt so overwhelmingly perfect?

Just _being_ there, in a place beyond time and matter, felt incredible, of course. But coming back, he felt a twinge of dissatisfaction, as if he hadn't quite reached whatever that instinct was yearning for.

What could be missing, then?

Crowley seemed to sense the shift in Aziraphale's demeanor in those moments of reflection, and remained a patient and kind partner. (Aziraphale discovered that _patient_ was an acceptable compliment; he made a mental note to brainstorm other indirect but virtuous words of praise.)

Some time around the third day of Aziraphale's study of the phenomenon, Crowley was pressing Aziraphale into the sofa, his knees bracketed around Aziraphale's thighs. He looked into Aziraphale's eyes, and pressed his palms tenderly against Aziraphale's. 

The sensation of their hands touching, and the intensity of Crowley's gaze, summoned an intense memory of the night before their trials. That memory dissolved into the irresistible urge to depart again, and when he came back moments after, the memory still sat in his mental processing queue. He let it linger for a moment, sampling it, remembering how he felt then in that moment back in Crowley's flat. 

They had talked about what they needed to do. Their hands had touched, much like they touched now. They had shared a lingering, more direct gaze than they had ever given themselves permission to before. And Aziraphale had focused his energy--all the love and light he wanted to share with this demon--from his chest and down his arms and through his hands. He had sent his love to take up home in this beautiful body. He had sent his light to save his best friend's life. Then he and Crowley had met, for the briefest moment, in the exact middle point of the process, where that love and light mixed with Crowley's, until it became something that was only theirs. For just an instant, it had been all that they were. Then their respective life energies had tipped past, and then they looked into each other's eyes from the other side. 

_Oh_ , Aziraphale thought, still on his own sofa and pinned under Crowley's gaze.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hi, angel."

"Crowley, how do you always know it's me calling?"

Crowley groaned. "Even if other people called me--which nowadays they don't--it's called caller ID. It's only been around a few decades..."

"Only a few decades! Well that's why I've never..."

Crowley groaned again. "You're ridiculous."

"...but you like that, dear," Aziraphale said. The confidence with which he said it still felt so new and exhilarating.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"I've been thinking, and... well, I was wondering if I might invite you on a picnic? Today, perhaps, if you're free?" Aziraphale fidgeted with the phone cable as he spoke. He had no logical reason to be nervous, but old habits died hard.

"A picnic."

"Yes, I believe I owe you one still. If you remember." Aziraphale smiled.

"I remember," Crowley breathed.

"I thought we could get out of the city for a day. I found a spot with good reviews on The Google. Could you drive us, by any chance?"

"Sure, 'course. When should I come by?"

"If today suits, then I just need an hour to get a few things. Any time after that."

Aziraphale picked out a couple of bottles of wine from his collection, and went out for some snacks he knew Crowley might enjoy picking at: a baguette, camembert, olives, fruit, sea salt dark chocolate, and a couple of pastries for himself. He made a pot of tea, and spent ten minutes miracling the thermos back and forth between tartan and plain silver. (He settled on the silver; this picnic was already evocative enough of that heaviness between them.) He packed it all away, along with a blanket.

Crowley seemed a little nervous too when he arrived to pick him up, but he didn't say anything about it. Aziraphale spent much of the drive with his hand on Crowley's thigh, experimenting with how distracting he could be without making Crowley's driving more erratic than it already was.

When they arrived, Aziraphale led them to a quiet spot under a tree that shaded them from the mid-afternoon sun.

"Aziraphale, there's no one here. I thought you said this was a popular park?"

"Hmm, that's curious..." Aziraphale smiled mischievously.

"You absolute bastard. What if those people had lovely plans for the day, and you've ruined them?"

"Kind of you to be concerned, but don't worry--they each happened to find something much better to do today."

Aziraphale laid out the blanket and food. He removed his coat and folded it on the blanket. "Let's eat, shall we?"

Crowley obligingly nibbled on most of the food and even shared a bite of Aziraphale's croissant. After they finished with their food, tea, and a bottle of wine, Aziraphale kicked off his shoes and stretched out on his back, and motioned for Crowley to join him.

"Mmm. I forget how it can be nice to get away from London once in a while," Crowley said as he lay down next to Aziraphale.

"Indeed."

After a few minutes of contented silence, Aziraphale spoke. "I've been thinking about your question, Crowley. About why this has been happening to me."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I think I have an idea now."

"Go on, then," Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and tipped his head back. "It's not that easy to explain."

Crowley rolled onto his side and gave Aziraphale a pointed look. "You said yourself that we're trying to turn over a new leaf. Be honest with each other. You can tell me."

Aziraphale sighed. He opened his eyes and looked up at the tree, and the vast sky beyond it. He took Crowley's hand. 

"I think there's something I want. That's why it's happening."

Crowley squeezed his hand. Aziraphale felt pinned by his soft gaze; he remained on his back, looking at the sky.

"When we chose our faces... how did that feel for you, Crowley?"

"Well, it was a bit odd walking around in someone else's body after getting so used to my own..."

"No, I mean... how did it feel while we were changing?"

"Hmm. Uh. Tingly, mostly?"

"Just tingly?"

"Well, obviously, I don't think that sort of experience can be described with human language. But yeah, tingly. And surprisingly intimate, I guess." Crowley smiled. "Why? What about you?"

"Well..." Aziraphale began slowly. "I remember a brief moment in the middle of it. Maybe we were exactly half-way. I just felt so... so connected to you. Like we were the same."

"Like I've been saying," Crowley said. "We're the same, you and I."

"Two of a kind, yes," Aziraphale agreed. "But I mean in a physical way. Even in a spiritual way. We just _were_ , and there was nothing separating us at all. Certainly not dogma or sides, but not even atoms, either. I don't know. I'm not making sense."

"No," Crowley said. "You are. Go on."

"Well... I think that's what I want. To feel that way with you again, for more than just a moment. I caught the slightest glimpse of it, but I think I want to linger for a bit. I think maybe that's why I've been losing focus on my corporation when we get close."

Crowley was silent for a moment.

"I think I understand," he said.

"Well that's good, because I hardly do!" Aziraphale cried. "It doesn't make any sense, because I also want so desperately to _have a body_ and fully _be in it_. I want to be able to touch you, and kiss you. I want to make love, if you do. I want to be close in that way, like the humans do."

"Eh, why don't we do both?"

Aziraphale laughed, but Crowley kept going. "I'm serious, angel! Six millennia here and that's pretty much what we do... human stuff mostly, with a dash of the occult."

"Occult! Honestly, Crowley. I'm an angel!"

"Whatever. Same thing. You know what I mean. Take yesterday, for example. We went to a cafe. It's owned by a sweet eldery couple. You bought a chocolate croissant. Some human started making it at 4am, with their bare hands, folding the butter into dough over and over again. You took a bite of it, tasted it with your human mouth. The chocolate crunched between your teeth. That cocoa was farmed by humans thousands of miles away, and for all I know you blessed their ancestors' agricultural efforts at some point. You smiled, and then you winked at me, and then the chocolate was suddenly soft and oozing out the sides. That's what I mean. We've built our lives alongside humans, and that's important to us. But we're not entirely like them. We like to have it both ways. I don't see how this is different," Crowley said.

"But that's not how we're supposed to be," Aziraphale said.

"Ha! Bit late for that, innit?"

Aziraphale smiled. "It's just hard to know sometimes how to balance those parts of myself. It's not like Heaven covered earthly existence integration in the training manuals."

"We can try to figure it out together," Crowley said. "Haven't we always?"

Aziraphale squeezed his hand.

"But in a case like this, where you have a clear instinct about what you want, seems like the path is easy, right? Just follow your impulse," Crowley said.

Aziraphale rolled over to face him. "Are you tempting me?"

Crowley just smiled.

"S-so, you want to try it?" Aziraphale asked quietly.

"Yeah, of course, angel."

"When would be suitable? I'm not sure how long it would take; might have to--"

"--how about now?" Crowley interrupted.

"Right now?"

"Isn't that why you invited me on this picnic?"

"To be honest, I hadn't thought this far," Aziraphale said.

"We can do it whenever you want. But this seems as good a time as any. It's private here. It's a nice day out. If we explode it'll be easier for them to clean the mess outdoors," Crowley said.

"You don't think--!"

"I'm just kidding. If that were a concern I reckon it definitely would've already happened."

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "All right."

Crowley smiled, and then leaned in to whisper in Aziraphale's ear. "If it works like you think it might, I think I'll have to clear my schedule for this evening." 

Aziraphale shivered. He moved to touch Crowley's nose with his own. 

"Darling," he breathed against Crowley's lips. "If it works like I think it might, you'll have to clear your schedule for a week."

After a brief kiss, Aziraphale rolled onto his back again. "But that's not the only reason I want to try, love. I really want to savor being so close with you, in a less human way. I think I had a taste of what that might be like when we swapped and some part of me hasn't been able to let the idea go. Do you think that will feel okay to you?"

"Aziraphale. All I've wanted for as long as I can remember is to be close to you. I'm not sure how it'll be, but I trust you. How should we be?"

"I was thinking we could lay on our backs. We can touch hands--that seemed to help when we changed corporations."

"Like this?" Crowley asked.

"Mmm."

"...and then?"

"Well, I'll probably start like this," Aziraphale said, and started to gather the love and light in his chest. It flowed through his arms, and as it had before, he sent it off with a mission. _Please show Crowley how important Our Side is to me._

Crowley made an unintelligible noise as it flowed into their hands.

"Can you feel it?" Aziraphale asked softly.

"Mm."

"Is it okay?"

"Yeah."

"What did you do before?" Aziraphale asked.

"I think it was a bit like this," Crowley said. His energy and demeanor shifted into pure openness and receptiveness, and Aziraphale’s love and light flooded into that welcoming space.

"Oh," Aziraphale gasped. 

After a moment of adjustment, he tried to imitate Crowley's shift, but in himself. It wasn't as reflexively easy as the beginning of this had been. To send his love out into the world (or directly into the body and soul of one demon in particular) was a fundamental angelic skill; it was how he was made. But to _be_ loved in this direct and individual way (beyond God's love, of course), to receive it unquestioningly, was not as easy. He'd only learned that on Earth, mostly in secret, mostly from being Crowley's friend... and he had spent an unfortunate amount of time wishing he hadn't.

Crowley must've sensed his hesitation.

"Go on, angel. I want you to have it."

Aziraphale took a deep breath, and opened himself completely. Immediately his outpouring of light and love was met by a steady incoming stream. It refilled the well inside him, changed its shape as their love blended together, even. His connection to his corporation started to feel more vague and fuzzy.

"I think," Aziraphale said carefully, "I think we are getting close. Can you hold it with me when we get there?"

"Yeah. Think so. No offense to yours, but I'm not keen on trading corporations again, so I've got plenty of incentive to keep us from tipping past that point."

"Heh."

Aziraphale turned his attention to balancing the flow between them. In one sudden moment he felt a more profound shift inside himself, and was immediately rewarded by a joyous surge from Crowley. He realized that opening himself more deeply to receiving made Crowley happier, which filled Aziraphale with joy and reciprocating love in turn, and that stretched him open even further.

Finally, they found it: this place of perfect balance, a spot exactly between who Crowley was and who Aziraphale was. In that place, neither could tell whose love was whose. In that place, they were all that existed. In that place, there was no space between them. They were somehow anchored still to their corporations, their bodies vessels for their collective self. But while their bodies held them, they were not constrained by the usual limitations of human perception; they fell into a state of flow and experience beyond thought, or time.

Aziraphale had never felt so close to anyone. 

He opened his eyes, and gasped when he saw the stars.

"Mnngh," Crowley said, drowsily.

"Look, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered.

"Oh. Oh. We were out a bit, there. Got late."

"Oh, nevermind that. Look at the stars, I mean. It's been ages. I'd rather forgotten about them, I'm sad to say."

"Hard to believe so many humans live without them these days.”

"Yeah."

"Was that what you were hoping for, Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale rolled on his side and gazed at Crowley. He put his hand on his chest, twirled his finger in Crowley's necklace. "It felt so good. I've wanted for so long to be so close to you. Not even in any specific way, just close. Closer. I've carried that feeling around for centuries and it was nice to just... surrender completely to that desire. It means so much to me that you trust me enough for that."

"Yeah, 'course. I'm glad. And I think I know what you mean about that."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I felt that way after we got free. When we were at the Ritz, I could feel this thing between us, and we were suddenly, finally, getting closer and closer. And when you kissed me I felt... dunno. Felt like you said. I just gave into it completely."

Aziraphale smiled, and moved in to kiss Crowley's lips gently. "How did this feel for you, dearest?"

"Mmm. Nice."

"That's all?" Aziraphale teased.

"I dunno! Words! How do you explain something like that? It felt good to be that close to you. It was really relaxing. But I don't think it was as significant for me as it was for you. I've lost track of time like that just from you holding me here in this earthly dimension."

"Oh, Crowley, that's so sweet..."

"Shut it," Crowley snapped.

After a moment, Crowley said, "We can do that whenever you want, you know."

"Thank you, dearest. Maybe once in a while? I think I just really wanted to know that it's there."

"Mmmkay," Crowley said, and focused his eyes on the stars.

"Can I try kissing you?" Aziraphale asked.

"Here? Don't you think someone could see?" Crowley asked.

"Ha, Mx. Temptation, suddenly you care about propriety? I told you, no one's here. I made sure," Aziraphale said.

Crowley rolled on his side to face Aziraphale. "Almost sounds like you were planning on it, angel."

"Might've been," Aziraphale said. He moved his hand to Crowley's hip.

"Bastard." Crowley pressed in, capturing Aziraphale's lips in a tender kiss.

Aziraphale could tell that Crowley was holding back a bit, kissing him carefully. He seemed to be keeping intentional space between them on the blanket.

_Well that won't do_ , Aziraphale thought. He scooted closer, and moved his hand to Crowley's lower back. He traced the tip of his tongue over Crowley's lips, not seeking to deepen the kiss further, just savoring the sensuality of it.

Crowley seemed to take the hint, and pressed in a little closer.

"Okay?" Crowley asked.

"Seems so," Aziraphale said.

Aziraphale slipped his fingers under Crowley's top, and stroked his lower back. "Can I touch you like this?"

"Yesss..." Crowley breathed.

Crowley's skin was so soft there, and Aziraphale was intoxicated by how Crowley was responding to even this gentle touch. His hips twitched slightly, and his breath came faster.

Crowley fully abandoned whatever pretense of caution from before, and pressed against Aziraphale until their chests were flush. Aziraphale tangled their ankles together, and Crowley started pressing kisses into Aziraphale's neck.

"I really like kissing you here, angel," he spoke into Aziraphale's skin, as he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and loosened his bow tie. "I think you like it too, because we couldn't manage more than a few seconds of it before." He moved his mouth up to whisper into Aziraphale's ear. "Do you think you can stay here?" Aziraphale clenched his eyes shut and nodded.

Crowley moved his mouth downward again, nibbling Aziraphale's earlobe with his lips, pressing a kiss into the skin behind it, licking carefully down his neck.

"Oh," Aziraphale sighed. Without any conscious thought, he shifted his hips. Crowley immediately matched his movement, and arousal bloomed suddenly, surprisingly, between Aziraphale's legs, and surged through his whole body in an instant. What a new, sharp, sensation this was. He had never managed to touch Crowley for long enough to let it build so far without interruption. It was absolutely delicious. He tipped his head back, Crowley's lips still at his neck, and savored the sensation.

When Crowley's lips reached his ear again, Aziraphale stilled his fingers at Crowley's back, and moved his hand to ghost over Crowley's bum. "Can I touch you here?" he asked.

"Nnngh, yes, please..." Crowley said, and nipped at Aziraphale's neck.

Aziraphale took a breath to steady his nerves--how could he be nervous about this when Crowley clearly wanted it?--and then pressed his hand down firmly. He dug his fingertips into the muscular flesh there.

"Ahh, gah, that feels so good," Crowley said.

"I'm glad." Aziraphale crept his hand further back. He shifted to capture Crowley's lips in a kiss, and squeezed again.

Crowley moaned against his mouth and bucked his hip up.

That sudden pressure of Crowley's leg between his was so much, too much. His head started to feel fuzzy. _Oh no,_ Aziraphale thought. _Not again..._

But then the sharp, focused sensation of arousal dissolved into something effervescent that took over his body, made him tremble. He moaned against Crowley's lips.

_Oh_ , he thought, as his orgasm faded into the quiet of the night. _Oops_.

Crowley had pulled back. When Aziraphale opened his eyes, Crowley was looking at him with gentle concern.

"Are you okay?" Crowley asked. He reached for Aziraphale's hand. "Did you go?"

Aziraphale tried to collect his words. "Uh. Erm, no. Well, I uh. I just came. Certainly didn't mean to."

"You what?"

"I'm sorry. It's quite embarrassing. I just--"

"No, Aziraphale, it's fantastic." Crowley leaned in to kiss him. "How do you feel?"

"Rather like a puddle of goo, I think. In a good way."

"But the other thing...?" Crowley asked carefully.

Aziraphale's post-orgasmic human brain was still struggling to form coherent thoughts, but he looked back at the last few minutes and realized he hadn't once felt that urge. "Not this time," Aziraphale said.

Crowley smiled at him.

"We might have to check again to be sure..." Aziraphale whispered mischievously. He pulled Crowley into a tender kiss.

"Have you uh... have you ever had an orgasm before that?" Crowley asked.

"Oh yes, loads of times. With a penis, generally. With a vulva sometimes. Quite often thinking of you, if I'm being honest."

"Ngk."

"Have you ever been with someone?" Crowley asked.

"Well..."

"...you don't have to say," Crowley added quickly. "I'm just trying to figure out where you're at. If you want this--and it sounds like you do--I'm wondering... er..."

"...whether I have sexual experience?" Aziraphale finished for him.

"Yeah," Crowley said. "It doesn't matter to me either way, love. I just want it to be good for you. I don't want to be too much at first."

"Are you willing to be too much eventually?" Aziraphale asked mischievously.

"Oh. You know me. Absolutely."

"Well, the truth is I haven't, really. Certainly not with someone like us, but not really with humans, either. I used to like watching them. With their permission, of course. I almost spent the night once with someone in the 19th century..."

"Was I sleeping, Aziraphale?"

"...you were."

"Were they a ginger?" Crowley asked.

"Hey now!" Aziraphale slapped Crowley playfully. "Maybe... Anyway, it just didn't feel right. Part of me wanted to try it, but I ultimately declined the invitation. I'll be honest, I'm a little nervous. I want this so badly but I don't really know what to do."

"Well, you seem to be doing well so far," Crowley said. "And you've read books. You've probably seen just about everything humans can do. We can figure out the rest together. I can show you."

"You do, then? Have prior sexual experience, that is?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley used his free hand to make a dramatic sweeping gesture down the side of his body. "Demon. I invented temptation. It's in the job description."

Aziraphale reached a hand up to stroke Crowley's cheek. "Oh, darling. Did Hell make you have sex for work?"

"Sometimes they did," Crowley said. "I usually didn't mind it. Getting people off is substantially easier and less disturbing than most other things on the table. But I did it on my own, too. It's nice. Always liked how it made my body feel. The humans I was with were into it too, but of course they didn't really know about me. I did it because I felt like the pleasure could be something just for me."

Aziraphale smiled. "Can it be ours now?"

"Yeah, angel."

Aziraphale leaned in to kiss Crowley.

"Oh, Crowley, you're still hard..."

"Yeah, well, if you touching me like that caused you to come in your trousers, how do you think it made me feel?" Crowley smirked.

"Can I touch you?" Aziraphale breathed. 

"Here?"

"If you're amenable. I told you, no one's here. And I already, er, found some relief. Fair's fair."

"Yeah... okay."

"Will you show me how?" Aziraphale asked softly.

"Sounds like you already know," Crowley said. "Just start by touching me like you like to touch yourself."

"Lie on your back," Aziraphale said.

Crowley did, took a deep breath, and gazed up at the stars.

"Can I unzip your trousers?" Aziraphale asked.

"You don't have to ask," Crowley said.

"I want to, though."

"Okay. Go on, then."

Aziraphale unbuttoned his jeans, which had already been so tight before all of this happened that Aziraphale suspected there might be a demonic miracle at play. Crowley gasped as Aziraphale's fingers tugged down the zip, brushing past him.

"Can I touch you?"

"Yes, Aziraphale, gah--"

Aziraphale nudged his pants and trousers down slightly, and pulled his cock free. He wrapped his hand around him carefully.

"You're so soft, Crowley."

He started to move, gently at first, but picking up rhythm as Crowley started to buck his hips up against his hand.

Crowley's advice had been sound. Of course Aziraphale wanted to study him, take him apart, learn exactly what would drive him wild, but for now Crowley seemed pleased--beyond pleased, really--for Aziraphale to follow his own instinct as he touched him.

It wasn't long at all before Crowley's eyes were completely golden to the edges. His breath came fast, and he kept looking up at the night sky. Watching Crowley come apart, seeing his body move and respond in such a raw, instinctual way, gave Aziraphale so much pleasure. He felt swept up in the sensations with him, without feeling them himself. He relished the experience of moving his hand and causing Crowley’s response. He noticed and catalogued the patterns that affected Crowley most. The idea that he could keep doing that, over and over again, learning how best to make him feel this way... it felt unreal, dizzying, glorious.

"You're absolutely gorgeous," Aziraphale said, and leaned in to kiss him. Within moments he felt Crowley come into his hand. 

Aziraphale miracled them both clean and zipped up his trousers.

When Crowley came back down, he rolled over to face Aziraphale.

"Thank you," Crowley said.

"Thank _you_ ," Aziraphale said.

Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a moment.

"Angel, you look like... what do you look like? You look like when I took you into my pocket dimension with Adam. I remember how you took a breath and squared your shoulders and looked so... I don't know."

"I like making you feel like that," Aziraphale said. "I've never done that before. I feel really... alive."

"Mmm."

"Actually, I think I know better how you feel, Crowley, when you stare at me during dessert."

"I do not!" Crowley protested.

"Are you serious, my dear? Have you ever seen yourself? You've been doing that for thousands of years. I never quite understood what pleasure you could possibly find in my enjoyment. But I think I do now," Aziraphale said. He scooted closer to Crowley and draped his arm over his chest.

Crowley stared at the stars again. They shared a few minutes of quiet.

"Aziraphale, I'm glad you didn't listen to me about Alpha Centauri. Not sure how happy we would've been. No cakes. No vintage cars."

"No beds..." Aziraphale whispered hotly against Crowley's ear. "No vintage cars to drive me back to your bed."

"Ngk."

"I'm glad we stayed too. But it would have been okay, Crowley. All I've wanted is to be close to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated--this is my first long fic since (::checks calendar::) 2004 or so? 
> 
> I'm so grateful to my artist collaborator Gayngels, and to my betas antikate and tickety-boo-af who made this story so much better with their feedback.
> 
> If you want to chat or scream about Good Omens with me, I'm on tumblr @ngk-they-said

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Right Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447345) by [Im_Not_Occult](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_Not_Occult/pseuds/Im_Not_Occult)




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